let the storm rage on
by saltzmans
Summary: This is not a fairytale—anniefinnick.


**notes **| this is for the lovely brooke (silver medals) as part as the '14 gge. i'm so sorry this late and i really hope you enjoy it!

* * *

it's funny how some distance  
makes everything seem small

—**let it go**, _idina menze_l.

.

Annie Cresta is drowning when she decides that love is wasted on her. The water's consuming her; washing in on great waves over her head; creeping in between her clothes and her skin, freezing her blood and her flesh and her heart. As she paddles frantically, her arm growing stiff around the broken log she's gripping onto, she knows she's about to die alone and cold and in the element she thought was her friend. She's going to die and she's going to leave everyone she's ever loved – and everyone who has ever loved her – behind and there's not a single thing she can do about it.

Then – just as her eyes begin to grow heavy; her arm numb – the canon blares. In that moment, the water calms; the sky clears and a voice booms from unseen speakers–

_"Ladies and gentlemen, I am please to announce the winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games...District Four's, Annie Cresta!"_

–Annie clamps her hands over her ears. The noise is everywhere; consuming her. Her grip slips on the log, and Annie's falling backwards, letting the water wrap it's arms around her. Annie smiles as her whole body is submerged, and all she can see is the pretty dappled sunlight through the water. This is peace. This is serenity. This is the end.

She's half gone – still floating between worlds – when the metal claw grips around her waist. She screams and the water bubbles around her. STOPSTOPSTOP. She struggles but the claw is moving upwards. HELP ME SOMEONE HELP ME. The water bursts around her as she's dragged above the surface. COLOUR WHY IS THERE SO MUCH COLOUR. She's rising; higher and higher. I WAS READY TO DIE. The water is nothing but a splash of blue against an endless landscape. JUST LET ME GO. PLEASE JUST LET ME GO.

Annie's head spins. Her vision blurs. There's a feeling of nausea rising in her throat.

She has won.

This is not a fairytale.

.

The train ride home to District Four is long and lonely. She sits by the window in the very last carriage for most of the ten hour journey. She falls asleep with her face pressed against the glass and wakes an hour later with panic rising in her throat and the feeling of the water closing in around her still etched into her skin. In the distance, she can make see the stretch of blue-green waters on the horizon. Home.

It's District Four and Annie's home. She's _alive_, something so unbelievable, she's still not entirely sure she didn't drown in the boggy waters of the arena. Oh God, she should be happy: overjoyed, in fact, that soon she's going to see her family, her neighbors, _him. _But instead all she feels is ashamed. Loathing, that she survived and all those other teenagers – children – died, alone and cold in the arena.

Her mentor appears at the door, all smiles and words which wash over her head like the icy waves. _We're home, Annie, _her mentor says, _put on a smile, why don't you? Everyone's so excited to see you. _

Annie tries but the grimace slips off her face. Reporters press against the windows of the train as it pulls into the station. Her family are there – mother's smiling; father's crying; brother's waving his arms; sister's got her arms wrapped her around her other brother – they're all so happy. Happy because she's not dead and twenty three three other children are.

Annie's face slips. The train doors open. The noise swims around her, creeping into her cracks and crevices. She wants to scream – to clamp her hands over her ears and block it all out.

_Annie! Annie Cresta! Over here! Tell me about the games? How do you feel? What's it like to be a winner? _

SHUT UP.

Annie screws up her eyes. She counts to three. Maybe when she opens it everything will be gone.

One.

Two.

Three.

This is not a fairytale.

.

It's easy avoiding him for the first few weeks. Annie's caught up in the turmoil of interviews where she's silent, photo shoots in which she doesn't smile and then all of a sudden everyone realises. They realise who she is and what she is and the begin to leave her alone.

She's Annie Cresta and she is mad.

After that it's so much harder to avoid him because living in the Victor's Village, means that there's only five houses between them and Finnick begins to appear at their door everyday. In the beginning her parents turn him away. _I'm sorry, _they say, _Annie's not feeling well today. _But after weeks – months – of Annie locking herself away in her room, it all becomes so much harder to let the practiced lie slip off their tongues.

One day they let him in. Annie's sleeping when he knocks on her bedroom door – or as close to sleep she can get these days. She ignores it. Letting the pounding wash over her. Ten minutes later it all becomes too much. The knocking seeps into her brain, pulling out the images she's trying to forget:

A girl being shot through the heart.

A boy's head splitting in half with the force of a machete.

A child – no older than twelve – lying dead, drowned in a pool of his own blood.

Annie stumbles out of bed, collapsing against the door. _Go away, Finnick, _she shouts, fingers pressing into the carpet, _why can't you just leave me alone?_

_Let me in, _comes his reply, a foghorn through the turmoil of sound racketeering through her mind, _I love you, Annie. Let me help you._

_I'm sorry, Finnick_, Annie's barely aware of the tears which run in waterfalls down her cheeks, _you don't want me. You don't really love me. _

_I do. I promise I'll protect you. Just let me in, _Annie can hear the tears, thick in Finnick's own voice, as he pounds upon the door. _Let me in. Let me help you. _

And Annie wants to. She wants to let him in, to have him hold her like he used to before everything fell apart, but instead she says nothing and just leans against the door, taking in the sound of his sobs, the fall of his breathing, until he gets up and walks away.

Annie stays, curled up against the door in a fetal position, for hours until her joints are stiff and limbs ache and her eyes her finally dry. She stumbles to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet until she finds the pack of sleeping pills her mother bought her when she caught onto Annie's sleepless nights. Annie pops four, swallowing them dry.

The world spins. Her head grows heavy. Her eyesight blurs.

She passes out in the bath.

Her sister finds her an hour later.

This is not a fairytale.

.

Three days later there's a news report on a gossip channel on the telly about Finnick who's managed to sleep his way through half of the Capitol's female population in less than a week. Annie's mother stiffens. _Sweetheart, _she says and her tone is soft and condensing, _do you want me to turn it off?_

Annie stares straight ahead, her eyes burning into the screen where Finnick is kissing a girl with bright pink hair in the middle of a Capitol party. _No, _she smiles, _why would you want to turn it off?_

_I– _Annie's mother falls silence.

Annie continues watching.

Outside the world still spins on it's axis. Outside children still die.

This is not a fairytale.

.

Finnick comes back a week later and this time their meeting is one of coincidence. Annie has decided to leave the house and walk down to the beach, and whilst she still flinches at every sound and the cold feels like she's back in that river – drowning – she's doing okay until she bumps into him.

He's walking towards her, on one of the residential roads, a cloth bag swinging loosely at his side, a small iron trident in the other. Fishing, Annie assumes. For a moment, as soon as she spots his russet hair at the end of the street, Annie considers running. Finnick has become a blank spot in her life – he's a grey figure, always in corner of her eye – and she's so caught up in the nightmares and the press and the horror of being _alive_, she has no idea what to do with him.

It's like she's a fish caught, stranded in the bay between two headlands on the beach, and Finnick is the tide, rolling towards her – a wave of love and protection mixed with the knowledge that one day, somehow, she is going to let him down. She needs him like the fish needs water to survive but she knows that going to him will break down the barriers she's so careful constructed, and she'll be bait, just waiting for the hook and line to snag her throat and drag her away.

_Hey, _he says, stopping when they draw level.

She doesn't say anything because even being near Finnick – breathing in his familiar smell, watching his body move, the way she's always known it to – brings up unwanted feelings. It creates a panic; a sense of urgency, which can't even pretend isn't there.

_Hey, _she replies and her voice is flat.

_I've missed you_, Finnick's voice is full of his usual puppyish eagerness.

_Oh, really?_

_What's that supposed to mean? _There's a sort of stuntedness in Finnick's tone as Annie's last two words hit him. _Annie, what have done?_

_Forget it. _Annie moves to push past him, but his hand stops her, gripping onto her shoulder. Refusing to let her go. Refusing to let her drown.

_Please, Annie. I love you. I know what you're going through. Let me in. Let me help you. _Finnick's desperation is wrapping its self round Annie; enclosing her in it's embrace.

_Really? So is that why you slept your way through the Capitol. Is that you _loving _me? Is it really? _Annie's words cut through the air between them like a knife.

_Annie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, _Finnick's frantic now, Annie can hear the edge of tears in his voice. _I was hurt. I wanted to forget. _

Annie's crying too now, the tears running furiously down her face. _Forget what? Forget that you're in love with a mad girl? _

Finnick shakes his head. _You're not mad, Annie. _

Annie's heart hammers against her chest. LET ME OUT. Her breathing quickens. The noises inside her head are louder than ever. STOP PLEASE STOP. Finnick's eyes are greener than the sea, a swirling backdrop behind them. She clamps her hands over here ears. All too much. This is all too much.

_God, Finnick, _she screams because the noise behind her eyeballs is too white and too much. _Why is it so hard to see? You don't love me. You can't love me. I'm mad. MAD MAD MAD._

_Annie, Annie, _Finnick's voice is soft beneath madness, calling her out; the eye of the storm, _come back to me. Please come back to me. _

Annie reaches for him, through the haze which has become her eyesight and he's there at her first touch; her hands make contact with his chest, moving along his shoulders, up his neck, cupping his face in her hands. _I'm sorry, _she murmers, _I'm so sorry._

Slowly, his arms wrap around her, cautiously as if the slightest pressure may break her. Annie returns his embrace, clinging to him like a lifeline, until their bodies are so close, not even a trickle of water could fit between them.

They stand like that. Annie and Finnick. Finnick and Annie. Caught in each other. Breathing each other in. Together.

This is not a fairytale.

.

They have four years of paradise; or as close to that as two victors, in love, can have.

Then the 74th Hunger Games happens. The girl on fire and the boy with the bread happen. The spark of rebellion begins to catch through the districts, spreading like wildfire. Then the Quarter Quell happens. And every night up until the reaping, Annie is back in the games.

She sees a girl attacked by a swarm of mutated wasps.

She sees a boy strangled, choking on nothing until his eyes grow blank.

She sees a child. Children. Dying. Dying. They're all dying.

Annie lies awake every night, in a bed which is cold despite the sweat drenching her body. Finnick lies beside her, paralyzed by his own dreams, the only sign that either of them are breathing – moving, alive – are their hands, entwined, the slightest bit of pressur pushing down on the small of her thumb.

They are only just surviving.

This is not a fairytale.

.

The reaping itself is a blur to Annie.

Finnick gets reaped – _of course, _he does – and so does Annie. But the sound of her name being called, amidst the eerie, pitiful silence breaks something inside of Annie. Something snaps. Her throat is screaming_screaming_screaming but she can't hear a sound. She falls to the ground. Gravel burns her knees. People clear a space around her. Hands pull her forwards.

Then–

The hands stop. The sound dims. The world swims into focus. And there, on the stage, standing next to Finnick who's standing, brilliant and brave, smiling amiably, is Mags. Mags with her toothless grin and soft, kind eyes. Mags who has just volunteered to die for her.

Annie's eyes burn. Tears spill down her face.

This is not a fairytale.

.

As the build up to the games begins, Annie sinks back into the hole Finnick has been slowly reeling her out of. She watches the chariot rides – (Finnick looks wonderfully handsome) – the training scores – (he scores a 10. Annie doesn't even smile) – and the interviews – (he declares his love for a girl somewhere in the mess of Panem. No one guesses his words are for a mad girl everyone forgot.)

Then the real games. Annie holds her breath for the whole minute before the canon goes off and Finnick dives into the water. She watches the familiar strokes of his arms; the streamlined position of his body. He pulls himself onto the land. Blocks a dagger. Throws a trident.

Annie covers her ears. Screws up her eyes.

This is not a fairytale.

.

They come for her at night. The darkness presses around Annie as figures in white uniforms grab at her, gagging her mouth, tying her wrist together. She's bundled into a hovercraft, the blackness suffocating her now.

STOP.

Annie has no awareness of the time passing. One moment she's in the hovercraft, the bumping of the air motion wracking her body. The next she's being shoved into a cell. The walls are damp and moist as Annie is thrown against them.

PLEASE STOP.

There are voices – all around her, all the time – _where is Finnick Odair, girl? Tell me where the rebels are. What're their plans? What to you know? Tell us and we won't hurt him. _

PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE STOP.

The darkness is endless.

This is not a fairytale.

.

When salvation finally comes – in the form of a man who calls himself Gale with soft hands and a warm voice – Annie is nearly gone. She's curled into a ball on the floor of her cell and she lets the man pick her up, carrying her through a warren of dark corridors as if she weighs no more than a bag of corn.

Then she's on a hovercraft again. There are more people here. The girl from the cell across the way who screamed, wet, animal screams when they dunked her under the water. The man with soft hands. The boy who the guards called the boy with the bread. They whisper cautiously, of _rebellion _and _fire _and amongst the murmurings of war, Annie catches another word.

_Finnick. _

_Finnick._

A name like prayer amidst the darkness.

_Finnick, _Annie whispers as the hovercraft flies across Panem, the stars burning outside dark walls. _Finnick. Finnick. Finnick._

This is not a fairytale.

.

On the night of their wedding – after the party and the music and the laughter from the people who though they'd never find cause to smile again – Annie and Finnick lie entwined in the narrow bed in the room they've been assigned.

_God, I've missed you, _Finnick sighs in her shoulder.

_I know_, Annie replies, move her body closer to Finnick's mouth. _I've missed you too._

_I'm never going to let you go again, _Finnick replies and his hands against her waist are like the best kind of promise, _not for a single second of a single hour in a single day. _

Annie smiles and there's a warmth in the pit of her stomach which she hasn't felt since before the games when she was love and believed that _life _and _true love _were just around the corner. _Thank you_, she tells him.

Finnick kisses her and for a moment the screaming, the pounding – the noise – which has held her brain captive for so long, begins to fade.

_I love you, _Annie whispers between kisses, _so much._

Finnick smiles against her. _I love you too._

High above their little room, hidden beneath the earth, the world still spins on it's axis. High above their little room, hidden beneath the earth, children still die.

This is not a fairytale.

.

The news of Finnick Odair's death come in words delivered by the man with soft hands – Gale – who rescued her from her cell in a time which seemed like years ago. He knocks on the door of her – their room in District 13 – long after the final battle has ended, Katniss shot Coin and the hierarchy upon which Panem had been so carefully built crumbled into ashes in the wake of the Mockingbird.

No one has been telling Annie anything. Despite her desperate pleas at the door of the Command Room, the the canteen, in the empty medic bay. No one speaks a word, turning away with downcast eyes and pitiful looks.

She knows then that something had happened.

Annie takes to locking herself in room, rarely emerging for meals or bathing. Her clothes smell like him. She doesn't sleep. The bed smells like him. Her stomach grows. Her hair smells like him. Sometimes people knock on her door. She ignores them until the pounding stops and Annie is alone again.

Sometimes she just lies in her bed, clasping her hands against her ears, screaming to nobody to make it stop; to tell her what the hell was going on.

Then one day someone breaks the lock. There's a fumbling at the keyhole and Annie's curled up in bed, staring at the wall when Gale Hawthorne walks in. His face is blackened with dirt – as if he's travelled a long way, and is far too gone to even consider washing – and he's carrying a bowl of something in his hand. The smell of meat wafts over from it. Annie's stomach growls. The baby inside of her his hungry.

_Where's Finnick? _Annie whispers, _where is he, Gale?_

Gale doesn't say anything. He places the food on the cabinet and walks over to the bed, gently maneuvering Annie upwards into a sitting position. She doesn't resist, she just repeats over and over again: _where's Finnick, Gale? Where is he? _

_You need to eat_. His voice is hard and heartbroken. Maybe the rumours about Katniss' little sister are true.

_Where's Finnick, Gale?_

_Please eat, Annie. You haven't had anything in days. _

_Where's Finnick, Gale? Is he with Katniss? Or Peeta? Is he in the Capitol?_

_Annie. Please. _Gale buries his head in his hands. _Eat. _

_NO! _Annie throws the bowl at the wall. It smashes. Brown liquid stains the white paintwork. _TELL ME. WHERE'S FINNICK?_

_Annie. I'm so sorry. _Gale's crying now. It's funny, she thinks, a single calm musing amongst the mess, the tears on his face look out of place with Gale's strong demeanor. _We did everything we could. I'm sorry. There were mutts–_

Gale's words are gone; they fly over her head like birds; like waves; like Finnick.

Annie's not crying. The tears won't come. She thought she had everything. Now she has nothing. Why won't the tears come. What is wrong with her? Where is Finnick? Where is he? TELL ME WHERE HE IS?

No.

NO.

_NO. _

This is not a fairytale.

_._

Six months later their baby is born.

He has Annie's nose and Finnick's eyes.

Annie wonders if she should cry as the midwife places her son in her arms.

Instead she smiles.

Her son really is beautiful.

Outside the world still spins on it's axis. Outside children still die.

This is not a fairytale.

.

.

.

_please don't favourite without leaving a review :)_


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